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by ryoku



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Crest (or the lack of) woes, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character Death, Pre-Monastery, crestless sylvain AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24178114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoku/pseuds/ryoku
Summary: It was inevitable, Sylvain knew that. Miklan had the crest of Gautier, he was going to get everything he ever wanted. That's just how the world worked. It was useless to expect anything else.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





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When Sylvain was 8, Miklan pushed him into a well. It happened on the day that King Lambert was to arrive in Gautier to lead the invasion of Sreng, and Sylvain, stuck at the bottom of the well, was worried about missing it. He really wanted to meet King Lambert, and would be in trouble if he wasn't there. A couple years ago, they'd been playing hide and seek before Miklan left, and Miklan hadn't found Sylvain. By the time he'd come out of hiding, Miklan was gone, and his father had been so angry that even now Sylvain remembered the beating. He didn't want to be in trouble again, and he knew this would be much worse. 

It was mid summer, so while the water was cool, it wasn't frigid. That was probably why he survived. Had it been any other time of year, he would've frozen. If the heat hadn't lowered the water level, or if it had rained more, he would've drowned. 

He screamed till he was horse, watched the sun appear, disappear, and reappear again. When an old washer maid found him, it had been five days. 

“Miklan pushed me,” Sylvain told his mother, snug in his bed, exhausted. He was still worried he'd be in trouble, but he was safe, and he'd rather take the inevitable beating than the well.

She looked at him, said, “Don't be so clumsy,” and left the room. She didn't come to see Sylvain again while he recovered, as he ate warm soups because it was the only thing he could keep down, or when the shivers that wouldn't leave turned into a fever, a cold, pneumonia. 

When his father got back, victorious and with twice the land they'd started with, he'd forgotten that Sylvain hadn't been there. He was still bedridden at the time, but when he was better, Sylvain got the beating of his life. By then, Miklan was accompanying King Lambert back to Fhirdiad. 

Sylvain didn't know what he had expected, Miklan could get away with murder. He almost did. 

~

Miklan spent a lot of time away from Gautier. He wrote letters to their mother sometimes, and she'd ambush Sylvain in the library and make him listen about how Miklan was spending time with Prince Dimitri, how Glen Fraldarius had showed him up again by getting a knighthood so young, and all manner of small details he included about the other crested heirs of Faerghus. How interesting the rest of the kingdom was compared to backwater Gautier. 

Sylvain liked his home, especially when Miklan wasn't there - he never got into any trouble while Miklan was gone - and it was even better when father was off defending the border, but he couldn't help hating it whenever Miklan spoke of what else was out there, places he'd probably never be. 

When he was old enough to carry an axe, he started accompanying his father on border skirmishes. He was young, but a good rider, and he was more of a pack-mule than anything else. It was his job to hold extra weapons (never the lance of ruin), lead the pack horses and to look after his father's horse. His father didn't trust most people with his horse, so even though it was menial, it was still an honor. The men joked that his father liked that horse better than his wife, and at the time Sylvain had laughed with them, and agreed. 

When he did well on his assigned duties, and showed promise on the training fields, his father started looking at him differently. Most of Sylvain's life had been about avoiding attention. At one point he'd craved Miklan's attention, but Miklan was mean and petty more often than he was kind. It was hard to spend time with him, because Sylvain was never sure if they were going to have a nice ride together or if Miklan was going to push him in mud for the fun of it. If Miklan set his sights on him, there could be be trouble, if his father even looked at him, the disapproval would drown him. Sylvain had learned the hard way to keep to himself, to be unassuming. Now he was getting attention, positive attention, and it was intoxicating. It made him feel important for once. 

That of course also meant he was defending the Sreng border long before Miklan ever was, and at a much younger age than was appropriate for anyone other than commoners. He had a knack for magic and tactics, horses and lances, and as long as he applied himself, his father didn't disapprove. Oddly, it wasn't hard, Sylvain had always been a veracious reader, and had devoured every book he could get his hands on. He was naturally clever, had a good memory, and whenever his father tested him, Sylvain could always come up with an answer. It wasn't always the right answer, but his father didn't seem to mind that. It wasn't that Sylvain had changed, he was still the same person he'd always been, but suddenly that person was good and useful and smart. His drills were also a fun way to spend time with the soldiers, and Sylvain liked that part too. 

In truth, Sylvain got along really well with the men. He could joke with them, and pretend to be older than he was. In fact, he was good at playing to his audience, and people liked him. Nobody in Gautier liked Miklan other than father and mother, something Sylvain hadn't realized until he started spending time with the soldiers, and that made Sylvain feel important. Let Miklan go all over Fargus, Sylvain's place was right here, fighting off the Sreng, earning his callouses like the rest of the common men. 

His father almost seemed proud. Then of course Miklan came home with a knighthood, and that was that. Miklan spent some time home after that, went out with father to the border, and led the soldiers for a little while. Miklan wasn't likable, but he was brave, aggressive, and demanded respect in a way that Sylvain probably never would. Seeing Miklan ride in on his giant steed, the Lance of Run at his side, and lead the men like he was made for it, was like drowning – Sylvain had to breath, but ever time he did, a strong hand kept his head in the water, and all his lungs could get was muddy, slimy water. Sylvain had never really despised Miklan before then, but he did in that instant. 

Thankfully, it didn't last. Miklan's knighthood kept him away from Gautier more than ever before. He sent less letters, and his presence, which had been so domineering while he'd been there, slowly dissipated, like a bad smell being aired out of a room. 

It wasn't perfect, Sylvain knew he'd be return to take everything that Sylvain had worked for, but he couldn't hate Miklan for it, not like he had before. It was easier when he was gone, and Sylvain cultivated a strong indifference to his brother, and his crest. At as a consolation, Sylvain could comfort himself that the number of people who actually missed Miklan could be counted on one hand. 

~

Whispers came of the Tragedy of Duscur long before the letter from Duke Fraldarius. 

Just like that, Miklan was gone. His crest hadn't saved him, and Sylvain didn't know what to think. He was 15. He'd come to view his life as before Miklan's death, and after. 

~

His mother died the next year, giving birth to a crestless daughter. The healers had said she was too old to bear children, the risks too high, and they'd been right. His younger sister lived, because when the healers were trying to save his mothers life, his father had instructed them to save the child. They had. 

At her funeral, Sylvain recalled years earlier, when he'd been surrounded by men twice or sometimes three times his age, laughing about how his father preferred his horse over his wife. At the time, Sylvain had been drunk off the attention, at being included in something. He'd laughed and confirmed it. Now there were too many things to feel, too much empty space within him, and so many eyes to pierce him. 

He was the new Gautier heir, for now. 

He had a new 'mother' within a month. She wasn't too much older than he was, and didn't have any aristocratic connections, but she was easy on the eyes, and her hips were promisingly wide. She had another crestless son in rapid succession, and then twins, both girls with crests.

Sylvain was old enough to know the reasons, to blame his father for his mothers death, and the mockery of his second marriage, but at the same time, Sylvain liked being an older brother. Looking after and playing with his younger siblings was fun, self important work. To them, he was strong, fun, reliable. He could cheer them up when they cried, play and tease them, teach them and read to them. It was so disgustingly normal, and he loved it. Sylvain was a much better older brother than Miklan ever had, and though his new 'mother' didn't like him much, he was nice to her, and helped with the little ones when he could. 

That changed when the twins were born. As if overnight, he wasn't welcome anymore. When the twins had colic, he was outright barred from seeing them, and later blamed for poisoning them. His father said he was old enough to live with the men in the barracks, and forced him out. 

It hurt that they thought he'd do such a thing, that he wanted anything bad to happen to his sisters, but Sylvain remembered the wet stone of the well, still woke up shivering some nights even though it wasn't cold. He'd been lucky, and crestless, so it hadn't mattered then. 

After years four years of trying, his new 'mother' finally gave Margrave Gautier what he wanted, a crested son. The same day he was born, his father enrolled Sylvian in the officers academy.

If it had been under different circumstances, Sylvain would've been happy. Some rebellious part of him had always wanted to leave home, to get just a taste of the world Miklan had bragged about, but Sylvain wasn't being sent away because his father wanted him to learn, or grow as a person. Or, well, not completely. If his father died soon, Sylvain would take over the house until the new heir came of age, but his parents didn't want Sylvain anywhere near their new crested son, or the twins. They also didn't want Sylvain off defending the border, because the soldiers would follow him, and that was dangerous too. They sent Sylvain to Garreg Mach to buy time, maybe hoped he would find a wife, but the most important reason was so he wouldn't murder his crested younger siblings. 

It didn't matter that he'd worked hard, that the people of Gautier liked him, that he was good and honest and a decent fucking human being. No, he was crestless, and there was a chance he'd murder his baby siblings, so he had to go. 

Sylvain went. 

No matter what he did, Sylvain was always going to be stuck in that well. For a small portion of the day, the sun would reach down and shine on his face, warm his skin; the sick blinding light of hope that someone would come for him. It was never meant to be, the sun would disappear beyond the rim of the well, and he'd still be stuck in the depths, the water rising and rising, echoing around his neck. He could scream and cry, but it did no good. What else was there to do? It was either be the monster his family already thought he was and claw his way out, or die abandoned in the well.

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more of this, I might not. This is just one of many possible scenarios I came up with when I started considering a crestless Sylvain AU. If you like the premise and want to write something in the same vein, go for it. I'd love to read it. I just want more crestless Sylvain.


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